


Within Castle Walls

by Entropyrose



Series: Season of the Devil [7]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Frank and Matt have a 20-year-old son, Gun Violence, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sexual Assault, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7734025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank had two choices:<br/>1)stay incarcerated indefinitely in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s underwater prison, or<br/>2) Join the S.t.r.i.k.e team, and hopefully find a way to be with Matt again.<br/>But as always, trouble just can't help but follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wolf in The Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> This will be the last installment of the Season of the Devil Series. It is not for the faint of heart, so if you are not willing to read explicit, dark, rapey stuff please exit now.

 

The ceiling opened up and Frank shielded his eyes from the blinding light. The spray of the ocean delivered its salty, fishy smell right up into his nostrils and the powerful waves thundered against the steel walls of the compound as it rose from the ocean depths. Frank had nearly forgotten the feeling of the outside world—trapped in a 6 by 4 foot cell under five-thousand feet of sea water, cut off from sunlight and the world in general will do that to a person.

 

Although it was not under the best of circumstances, Frank felt alive again. He ran his fingers down the length of the gun on his lap. It felt heavy, cold, and just plain _right_. The tactical getup was stiff, though, and the crisp material jabbed into his skin, and for just a split second, he was a nineteen year old kid again with the clean shave and brand new marine-issue fatigues, clutching an unfamiliar weapon, headed into unfamiliar territory.

He ran a finger through the neck of the suit and pulled.

 

“Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it.”

 

He turned his head towards the new voice, a man in the same fatigues, only his were worn and dirt-ridden. Frank calculated this guy was close to his skill levels, too, not some new recruit or polished officer taking a break from flying a desk. The man extended a gloved hand to him. Frank took it cautiously.

 

“Rumlow,” The man said.

 

Frank nodded. No doubt this man already knew who Frank was and what he was there to do; no need for an introduction among officers. This guy had a heady alpha scent that made Frank rumple his nose—the bitter smell of battery acid, petrol and black ice. There was a mildly spicy undertone, too, one that didn’t belong to him and yet surrounded him. Frank’s shoulders relaxed a little. The familiar, calming scent of an unknown omega softened his nerves, and something in it reminded him of Matt. Hell, everything reminded him of Matt these days.

 

The wondered briefly if he still smelled of Matt, and if this guy could smell Matt, too.

 

The man named Rumlow cracked a smile and took a seat beside him as the chopper lifted off the ground and they went airborne. Across from them sat a few fresh-faced kids all decked out in battle garb and whom Frank refused to meet in the eyes. Frank guessed that S.t.r.i.k.e. operatives had a high turn-over rate and were constantly recruiting to fill the void, and there was no use in getting to know bunch of kids who were as good as dead anyway.

 

Frank recalled receiving the same kind of cold welcome on his first mission, and wondered if his C.O.s had felt the same way about him, back then. 

 

“Did Kane brief you on the situation?,” Rumlow asked, biting off a glove and sifting a bare hand through his gear bag.

 

Frank’s eyes followed his every motion, out of habit more than the premonition of any real threat. “Yeah,” he murmured.

 

“Good. Tullsah here is your driver.” Rumlow pointed, and one of the kids raised a gloved hand in recognition.

 

Frank nodded.

 

“You’re going to be switching vehicles four times through sectors B through J. He’s got the directions memorized, so stay close and stay on-target. No screw-ups, like last time—“ Rumlow’s gaze switched to the pale-faced kid in slightly different colored slacks, who bobbed his head up and down nervously. “I’ll be right behind you in Jay-Alpha-Zero, so radio if you require backup.”

 

“A’right,” Frank said, peering out the dirty window of the chopper to glance at the approaching skyline of New York.

 

Nearly home.

 

Frank tossed the shoulder strap over his neck and gripped the gun tightly.

 

“And Frank?”

 

His eyes snapped up to meet Rumlow’s.

 

“Welcome aboard,” Rumlow said, a genuine grin crossing his lips.

 

Frank sneered but nodded his head.

 

* * * * *

 

“Remind me again why I’m doing this?”

 

Matt hovered over his son, who was crumpled up on the couch, two pillows tossed over his head. “Because it is a week-end night and you are my son and you love me,” Matt muttered, adjusting his bow tie.

 

“You sure about that last part?,” Eric groaned.

 

“Here,” Matt said, placing a cup of strong black coffee on the low-lying table next to the couch. “It will help with the hangover.” Eric froze, waiting for the hammer to drop from Matt’s discovery of Eric’s recent…indiscretion. Matt didn’t broach the subject past that, though. He didn’t need to. Eric had been caught and he bloody well knew it.

 

 Matt slapped Eric’s knee and felt along the edges of the fabric covering his legs. “You’re still in your boxers? Really? Eric, it’s six o’clock.”

 

Eric slid up to a sitting position and grasped the cup with both hands, taking a long sip. “Uck. I don’t why Dad likes this stuff.”

 

“He doesn’t,” Matt said, moving towards the coat closet, his fingers gliding over the hangers and pulling out a long black garment bag. “It helps him focus.” He tossed the bag over Eric’s lap. “Uncle Foggy will be here any minute so you’d better get dressed.” Matt smoothed the front of his suit, standing bone-straight, presenting himself. “How do I look?”

 

“Like a blind guy in a tux,” Eric snickered. Matt clamped a hand down on the back of his head with a grin and rumpled his hair.

 

“Fix yourself,” he retorted, releasing him with a playful shove.

 

Normally, Matt was not one for charity events either. But it was good for the office and for publicity and this was supposed to be one of the biggest galas that Hell’s Kitchen had seen in a long time. Foggy had begged a little, and Matt needed to get out anyway and spend some quality time with his son, even if it meant dressing as an ‘elitist sheep’ as Eric called it.

 

Eric got dressed quickly and glanced approvingly at himself in the mirror he had bullied Matt into buying. “Not bad,” he said, and Matt inspected the job, running his hands down the lapels and smoothing out his collar.

 

“It’ll do,” Matt said.

 

“Yeah you know I look better than you,” Eric chided. He rested his elbow on Matt’s shoulder, a reminder of how much taller he was than either of his Dads. The red hair, the height, and the lack of a breeding alignment had totally caught his parents off-guard. It seemed their son was everything no-one had been expecting, destined to blaze his own path.

 

“I can still kick your ass,” Matt reminded him with a nudge to the ribs.

 

Eric laughed softly as Matt pulled him into a hug, burying his face between Eric’s shoulder and neck, inhaling deeply. Matt took in the faint scent—even though Eric was neither alpha nor omega, he still carried a natural aroma that was so close to Frank’s. Eric’s smile faded and he drew his arms around his father, dipping his head to press their cheeks together. “I know, Daddy.”

 

Matt pulled away, harshly brushing a tear from under his glasses, and sniffled. “Sorry.” He brushed Eric’s lapel, smoothing it, and tugged his jacket down. He smiled sharply and grabbed his cane, heading for the door. 

 

* * * * *

 

The gala was exactly what Eric expected—glittering gowns, a live brass band, a sea of black tuxedos and the overwhelming stench of _money_. He relaxed his face, trying to erase his obvious scowl. It was much easier to do after noticing the inviting smiles of a few well-dressed young women and men as they eyed him up and down. He straightened his back and pouted his mouth slightly, throwing his supermodel good looks to the forefront. While it might not have been the ideal place to party, there were a few prospective dance partners that Eric was going to try for. “Stay close,” Matt muttered, as if reading his thoughts.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Eric gruffed.

 

“For you,” Foggy sashayed over, drinks in hand.

 

“Cool,” Eric said, taking one.

 

“Relax, kid, yours is Sprite.”

 

Eric pouted. “Damn.”

 

“You’re still too young,” Foggy preached.

 

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Matt added. “But we never listened at his age, either.”

 

“Yeah but you’re supposed to _act_ like we did!” Foggy pressed a cold glass into Matt’s empty hand and smiled. “It’s 7 and 7.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Hello,” A young woman dressed in blue approached Eric, a long string of pearls bouncing around her neck. Her face was vaguely familiar.

 

“Hi,” Eric said, flashing a smile.

 

“I’m Rebecca Torsid. My uhm. My Dad is Albert Torsid? Your Dad helped him win the Brewning Case a few months back.”

 

“Oh yeah, I remember. Uh…” He took her hand after a pause, awkwardly kissing the back of it.

 

She laughed. “Wow. A simple hand-shake would have sufficed.”

 

Eric smiled nervously, feeling the heat rush to his face, and laughed softly. “Uh…sorry. I’ve never been to uh…one of these…before.”

 

“That’s quite alright. Actually, you’re pretty charming.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Don’t just stand there like an idiot,” Foggy said, giving his arm a push. “Ask her to dance.”

 

Eric gingerly offered the young lady his arm with a nervous little smile, and she looped her delicate arm through his.

 

“And that which you have just witnessed is called Murdock Magic,” Matt boasted proudly as the couple made their way to the dance floor.

 

“Oh really?,” Foggy chided. “Because for a second there, I thought I was going to have to ask one of the waiters for a spatula to pry that kid’s jaw off the floor with.”

 

Matt tilted his head suddenly, his jaw flexing. “Frank?”

 

“Wait. What?” Foggy attempted to see what Matt was clearly hearing, scanning the upper balconies for any sign of the black-clad convict.

 

“He’s here Foggy.”

 

“Okay. Okay but…where? More importantly, how? Isn’t he supposed to be incarcerated in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s underwater dungeon or something…?”

 

“Shh,” Matt said, splaying his fingers out, directing his focus towards the sound. “Watch him,” he ordered, pointing the way Eric had gone.

 

“Be careful,” Foggy murmured, as Matt disappeared into the crowd and up the winding stairs.

 

* * * * *

 

Matt could smell Frank before he could hear him. The familiar fragrance of sandalwood, gun-grease and black coffee stirred together in the air of the hallway and it may has well have been an invisible string leading Matt right to him. The clothes were different, though, throwing Matt off for a quick few seconds; he sensed/heard scratchy, stiff new battle fatigues, the electronic hum of a radio receiver and earpiece, and the creak of bright black leather boots. “Frank?”

 

Frank turned slowly towards Matt’s voice, his eyes staring in disbelief. “Red,” he breathed.

 

Matt choked down the urge to run and gather Frank up into his arms and kiss him until his lips fell off. He swallowed hard. “What’re you..?”

 

“Long story.” Frank turned away and Matt frowned.

 

“What’s with the getup?”

 

“I could ask you the same.” Frank’s mouth twitched into a smile that quickly faded. He stood guard diligently, making a firm attempt to appear undistracted. “He wanted me, Red. He baited the whole thing.”

 

“Who did? Frank, I-I don’t understand.”

 

“Just—“ Frank paused to lower his gun and switch off the radio receiver. “Get out of here, okay? I love you. Go.”

 

“Frank—what—no.” Matt just stood there, stupidly. All the power and preparedness that he could have felt while in the Daredevil suit seemed unreachable as mere Attorney Matt Murdock. He set his jaw and carefully folded his cane.

 

“No, no, no, no, I know that look,” Frank ground out. “You get your ass out of here before shit goes down.” Frank’s eyes darted from one end of the away to the other.

 

“Listen, Frank. Our son is out on that dance floor.  You tell me what’s going on,” Matt stated bluntly, removing the suit jacket and unbuttoning his bow-tie. Matt was hoping for just enough to make an informed move—he knew that there would be far too much to the story for Frank to relay everything in the short few moments they had. But he needed something, anything.

 

“Eric?” Frank’s eyebrows curved upward.

 

“Focus,” Matt said.

 

A man wearing the same tactical clothes appeared around the corner. He looked at Frank. Frank nodded. The man disappeared again.

 

“It’s Kane,” Frank said softly. “He worked out a deal with a bunch of the higher-ups at S.H.E.I.L.D. to get me out of prison and on the S.t.r.i.k.e. team. But…” His voice trailed off.

 

“But what?”

 

Frank shook his head. “I don’t know yet, it’s shady… S.H.I.E.L.D…or maybe just Kane, is in it with the Irish Mob. He called us in as security for a bunch of the mucky-mucks. Like his own personal S.W.A.T. Team. We transported the big wigs here. But…”

“The _Irish_?”

 

“Shh.”

 

“But Frank, the Irish…They know who you are. How many of their men you’ve killed—“

 

“You think I don’t _know_ that? That’s the part that doesn’t make sense.”

 

“I don’t…”

 

“They’re transferring me, Red.”

 

“What?”

 

Frank cracked his neck and adjusted his rifle-strap. “They’re handing me over to the Irish. After tonight.”

 

“We’re not going to give them the chance,” Matt ground out.

 

“No shit. But I have to bide my time. It’s not right, not yet. And all these people…” Frank’s gaze returned to the balcony, to the crowd of dancers. “You get him out, Red. Eric can’t be caught in the middle of this.”

 

Matt sighed. “Okay. But don’t go anywhere until I get back.”

 

“Right,” Frank scoffed.

 

“Hey,” Matt scanned the room for prying eyes, then leaned in and pressed his lips to Frank’s. Frank let out a deep, satiated moan, relishing Matt’s cool, calming scent, slipping Matt’s bottom lip into his mouth and sucking in. Matt’s eyes fluttered closed. “Love you,” He muttered, stealing one more quick kiss before breaking it off. He snapped his cane to standing, and went down the hallway to collect their son.

 

* * * * *

 

Someone kept bumping up against them as they danced, which totally pissed Eric off. If the asshole wanted to cut in, he could have just said so. “Do you know that guy?,” Rebecca asked, glancing over Eric’s shoulder, her gaze following the offender.

 

“Probably some douchebag tycoon looking to cut in on our fun.” Eric flashed that Murdock smile again, and Rebecca stifled a laugh.

 

“Oh, we’re having fun?”

 

“Well, I thought so. Wanna take a break?,” Eric asked, nodding to the lounge.

 

“That would be nice,” She replied. “These heels may be cute but they are sawing a chunk out of my toes.”

 

“Wow. Sounds painful.”

 

“It is,” she chided.

 

They stepped off the dance floor, making their way to the line of plush couches and soft cocktail music. Eric felt a bump, and Rebecca was knocked into him sideways as the sound of breaking glass jolted them. Rebecca gasped and looked down at her dress—which was no doubt expensive—and the large puddle of alcohol that was quickly saturating it. “You okay?,” Eric asked. 

 

“Uhm…yeah.”

 

“Oh god, I am so sorry,” a man in a black tux said. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

 

“It’s…it’s okay,” she flashed a tight-lipped smile as Eric pulled out the decorative handkerchief from his pocket, which had now found a purpose. He hesitated, his hand with the dry cloth hovering directly over her bosom. “Thanks,” she said, taking the kerchief and dabbing at her dress. “I think I’d better…go clean up.”

 

“Sorry,” the guy said again.

 

Eric glared at him and Rebecca went to find a bathroom. “I’ll be right here,” Eric called after her. He tried to shoot one last dirty look at the clumsy man, but he was gone. Eric’s brow furled.

 

“We gotta go,” said a voice, and he felt a strong hand wrap around his arm and pull.

 

“Dad?” Eric said. Matt didn’t reply as he pushed his way through the crowd dragging his son. “Dad, wait, what’s going on?”

 

Matt gave his arm a tight squeeze, his very polite way of shutting him up. “Your…your Dad is here. He has been recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. to do some dirty work for the mafia or something—“

 

“What?!”

 

“Just—listen to me! I have to help him, but things are probably going to get rough. I need you to find uncle Foggy and go. Now.”

 

“Dad—“ Eric began.

 

“There’s no time!” Matt shot back, his eyes burning with urgency.

 

Eric tore away from Matt’s hold. “No. If you stay, I stay. Especially if Dad’s here.”  

 

Matt would have rolled his eyes if he but had the time. “Good god,” he muttered, shoving Eric towards the exit.

 

“Leaving already?” Came a dark voice behind them. Matt turned to see Kane, a gun in his hand and an unnervingly playful grin crossing his face. “And hello, again, Eric.”

 

“He was just headed out” Matt growled, stepping in between his son and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, giving Eric a jolt towards the door with his foot.

 

“Then, what a relief I got here in time. I wouldn’t want your baby boy missing out on all the fun.” Kane wiggled the gun towards the direction of a door to their left, a door that Matt hadn’t yet noticed. “Let’s do this quietly, shall we?”

 

“Dad he has a gun,” Eric murmured in Matt’s ear.

 

“I know,” Matt said cooly. He cocked his head angrily, glaring up at the tall, white-haired agent. “Let’s make a wager. You let my son go and I won’t break your legs and watch you bleed out on the floor.”

 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Mr. Murdock. You really are picking up on your husband’s bad habits, aren’t you? Or maybe you just haven’t grasped the situation.” A quick flash of his right hip revealed a smooth, black radio. He unclipped it from his belt, his thumb brushing against the receiver. “One word and I can have my men put a bullet in Frank’s head.”  

 

“And lose your precious trade-off with the Irish Mafia?”

 

Kane laughed darkly and shrugged. “I can always make other arrangements.”

 

Matt’s eyes narrowed further, but Kane shoved him towards the far door with the butt of the pistol jammed into the small of his back. “Come on son,” he looked at Eric, nodding towards Matt’s direction and Eric followed, glaring the whole way.

 

They were headed down a dark, winding staircase that was dimly lit. Matt felt along the railing, taking each step slowly, deliberately. “So you let me talk to him, didn’t you.”

 

“Of course,” Kane said. “I wanted to give you a chance to say good-bye. I’m not heartless, Mr. Murdock.”

 

“They’re not going to kill him, you know.” Matt said. “Your men. Or the Mafia. Frank won’t give them the chance.”

 

Kane’s laughter bounced off the stone walls as the stairway opened up into a large cellar. “You have this all figured out, don’t you?”

 

At the bottom of the stairs, Matt could sense seven other bodies in the room, all holding ballistic rifles and semi-automatics. The hard shit. Two empty metal chairs filled the space between them.

 

“These aren’t him,” one of them said in a thick Boston accent. “Where’s my guy, Kane? You going back on our deal?”

 

“Patience is a virtue,” Kane chimed. He placed a heavy hand on Matt’s shoulder. “Show this gentleman to his seat, will you?”

 

A few of Kane’s guys, wearing S.t.r.i.k.e. garb, hooked their hands around Matt’s arms, the smooth metal of handcuffs surrounded his wrists with a “click”. They led him off the chair.

 

“I don’t have time for any of your games—“ the man with the accent was cut off sharply by Kane, who shoved Eric into the free seat beside Matt.

 

“Let me ask you, Mr. McCulley, how many of your good men have been lost at the hands of Frank Castle? Hmm?”

 

“Get to your point,” he growled.

 

“The point,” Kane said, circling his two seated captives, “Is, do you just want the man dead? Or would you rather see him suffer?”

 

Eric cried out as Kane grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled back, sending Eric’s head over the metal chair and his legs splayed out in front of him. Kane gave him a good shake before shoving him out of his hold, leaving the kid gasping to catch his breath.

 

“Eric. You okay?” Matt murmured, his gaze searching for an expression he could not see.

 

Eric ran a dry tongue over his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, Dad, I’m fine.”

 

The Irishman took a while to answer, chewing on the inside of his cheek, fiddling with the handle of his pistol. “I want that good-for-nothing sonofabitch to burn until I can smell the embers from here to hell.”

 

“Good,” Kane approved, carefully removing the chamber of his gun. “Then consider that this is a damn good start.”

 

Eric heard the “crack” of the gun over Matt’s head, saw his head slump forward. He couldn’t stop himself from letting out a shriek. “DAD!”

 

Kane hovered closer, but stashed his gun, running a disgustingly familiar finger along the nape of Eric’s neck. “You look very good all cleaned up,” he noted quietly, in a tone that was meant for only the two of them to hear.

 

Eric shuddered. “Fucking creep.”

 

Kane stifled a chuckle. “Hush, now, sweetheart. There’s no need to be afraid. I’ve got something very special for you.”

 

Eric’s eyes flashed when he saw the vial Kane produced from his jacket pocket, and raised his free hands to strike. Kane easily collected his arms into a grappled hold, burying the needle in.

 

“It’ll hurt more if you struggle,” He snapped.

 

Eric’s writhing body convulsed as he fought against Kane and the warmth suddenly spreading through his body. He flashed a look over at Matt’s unconscious face, and the thin line of blood trickling down one side. His cries were muffled by Kane’s other hand, which drew around his mouth and nose, drowning him in his own horrified shrieks.

 

The warmth began as a tingle in his toes and quickly spread upward, until his arms collapsed and he went forward like an unbound marionette. His strength was soon sapped so that he could not even swallow, and his whole spinning world went a deep, dark black.

 

 

 * * * * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. The Wolf, Circling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kane finally has Eric Castle right where he wants him--will Frank and Matt save their son in time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to get very rape-y in a very bad way. You have been warned.

Ten Years earlier…

Matt didn’t need sight—or sonar, for that matter—to tell how dark it was. The city sounded different at night. The chatter of the busy street slowed to a lull as dusk settled, and sounds became sharper, more clearly defined from one another. It was also when the real troubles of Hell’s Kitchen reared their ugly heads—children crying as their parents beat them, shots ringing out in the blackness, sirens wailing, the pounding footsteps of a perpetrator running from the law. Tonight, however, was dead quiet. Matt ran his arm across the smooth, cool bed sheets beside him, his fingers searching for a body that wasn’t there. 

Matt frowned. 

It wasn’t so unusual for Frank to get up in the middle of the night. In fact, it was common for him to jolt upright, soaked in sweat, chest pounding, lungs scraping for air. What was unusual was that this time, Matt had slept through it. He stretched both arms as far apart as they would go and yawned. After that and a quick scratch at the scruff of his neck, he slipped out from underneath the crisp top sheet and made his way quietly down the hallway. 

Long gone were the days of Matt’s beloved studio apartment. When Eric had outgrown his toddler bed (ages ago), he and Frank opted for a two-bedroom unit in the same building. Eric’s bedroom was a few steps down the hall and a turn to the right from his parents’. There, on the floor next to Eric’s sleeping form, he found him.

“Frank,” Matt whispered. 

A soft sniffle was the reply, and Frank raised his head, wiping his eyes with the neck of his shirt. “Hey, Red,” He muttered. 

“Bad dream?” 

“Huh? No. He’s been out for hours.” 

“I meant you.” 

“Uh…” Frank paused, his head turned to the window as if facing his own humanness was too much to bear. “Yeah.” 

Matt hovered in the doorway. “You’re going to wake him. Come on.” 

“I know, Red. I just…” Frank’s voice trailed off as his fingers absentmindedly twirled a lock of Eric’s burnt red hair. “ I wanna keep him safe, you know?” 

When Frank’s eyes finally met Matt’s, Matt could easily combine the inflection in Frank’s voice with the sea-salt smell of his tears. His nose was crinkled, the way it was when he took a swig of pitch-black coffee, his lips grated together like someone was holding a knife to his throat, the fingers of his free hand balling into a fist on the floor. “He *is* safe,” Matt said, blowing out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in. He smiled understandingly, extending his hand a little more. “Come on.” 

When Frank took his hand and joined him outside Eric’s room, they both headed down the hall to the living room. There was no point in going back to bed; Frank would be heading back to check on their boy again soon enough. Not out of necessity, Matt figured, but out of the fear that Frank thought he was living in some dream that he would wake from at any moment, the dream that he had a husband, and a beautiful kid—a family. Something to fight for again. 

Without asking, Matt started up the coffee pot and joined Frank on the couch, relaxing back into his solid chest. Frank placed a firm kiss on his forehead, drawing him into his arms with a satisfied moan. 

“He will always be safe,” Matt offered, his fingers lightly stroking down Frank’s bicep. “We will make sure of that.” 

“Yeah,” Frank said softly, sounding only half-convinced. “Yeah, sunshine.” He pecked Matt’s cheek for affect and Matt wriggled closer, his ear pressed to Frank’s chest. He would soon be fast asleep, lulled by the thrumming of Frank’s steady heartbeat. 

* * * * * 

“Matt.” Frank’s voice was broken, raspy, as he stared down at the unconscious face of his husband. A thin line of blood trickled down Matt’s forehead. 

Kane stepped out of the shadows, having positioned himself in the middle of his own pack of armed men and the mob. “Don’t get any bright ideas, Castle.” 

“What the fuck did you do to him!?” Frank raised his rifle immediately, lining the sight up with the grinning, suited man. 

“STAND. DOWN.” Kane barked. He nudged his loaded pistol into Matt’s cheek. 

Frank lowered his weapon with a growl and Kane nodded to Rumlow, who had followed Frank down. “Sorry, man,” Rumlow said as he stripped Frank of his weapons. Frank never once tore his eyes off the ice-blue glare of Kane’s. 

“Good boy.” Kane let his pistol fall to his hip and motioned to a chair. “Please, Frank. Have a seat.” 

“You sonofabitch,” Frank spat, planting his feet where he stood and ripping off the earpiece around his neck. He tossed it to the floor, balling his fists. “Did you plan this, Kane, you piece of fucking shit?” 

“You don’t catch on very quickly, do you.” Kane’s pistol was back in Matt’s face. “SIT. Or I will blow your housewife-omega’s head into little chunks.” 

Frank allowed himself to be slammed down into the cheap metal chair, restraints fastened to his wrists and ankles, scopes trained on him in case he should consider making a move. 

“Good boy,” Kane murmured. 

“What do you want?,” Frank ground out, cutting to the chase. 

Kane’s eyebrows raised in amusement. “So glad you asked. You see, Frank, I have been watching you for a long while, now. Your reputation precedes you. You have been a monumental pain in my ass for as long as I can remember. I thought having you locked up solitary would be fun, but your skills were far too advanced to be allowed to go to waste. But none of that matters, now.” Kane pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and leisurely swiped it over the barrel of his gun. “Now, you belong to them.” He nodded to the mafia men. “For a fair price, I’d say. 250 Million. Not bad little chunk of change. Enough for me to buy Eric a nice little cottage somewhere in the back forty.” 

“Eric…?” Frank’s eyes flashed suddenly, glancing upward at the Agent. “Where is my son?!” 

Kane let out a taunting laugh. “Oh, let me tell you he looked positively ravishing tonight! I’ve never seen him in a tux before. Very nice. He definitely inherited Daddy’s cute little ass.” Kane kicked the chair Matt was slumped over in for effect. “I’m used to watching Eric in his favorite orange swim trunks down at the beach, or those worn-out jeans of yours that never quite fit him right? He uses those to work on the Blazer. Mmmn, or that tight little blue speedo at swim practice?,” Kane hissed with pleasure, grabbing his crotch. “Let me tell you, Frank, it was hard to wait this long.” 

“YOU LEAVEHIMALONE YOU BASTARD!”

““You are in no position to be making demands!,” Kane fired back. “I am going to take him, you know. Make him my obedient little omega.” Kane stalked closer to Frank now, practically sashaying his way into the man’s snarling face. “I am going to breed him raw, Frank. Your little boy, on the end of my big, fat, cock.” Kane bent low, his breath on Frank’s ear and Kane chuckled when Frank roared. “Don’t worry,” Kane added, straightening his collar and running one hand down his jacket, smoothing the lapels. “I will take good care of him. Since he’s not an omega, I’ll be sure to lube him up well.” 

“I swear to God, Kane—“ Frank growled, a helpless pitch of agony threatening to surface. “You touch him and I will—“ 

“Yes, Yes, I’m sure.” Kane rolled his eyes and turned to a small t.v. hanging in the corner of the room. He flicked it on, and a black and white video cut through the static, showing a picture of a lanky young man lying in a bed, held down by both wrists to its’ posts. “Did you know your little boy’s still a virgin?” Kane sorted. “I guess I have you to thank for that. Probably scared off every available Jake before he even had a chance. He is a rare find, Castle, I’ll give you that. Smells like your Matthew, here.” He closed his eyes, dramatically inhaling, head tilted to the side, then blew out in one quick breath with a crooked smile. “Ahhh!” 

“Piece of shit, garbage, puss-bag agent,” Frank’s insults slurred together in the hot fury of his tears. 

“I will take good care of him,” Kane said, heading to a door that Frank hadn’t noticed before, opening it. 

Frank peered in at the silver of room beyond that he could see, the edge of a big bed and the long legs lying on it. He strained against the ropes. “Bastard!!!” He called out as Kane slid inside. 

He turned back, paused with a sly smile, and said, “Enjoy the show.” 

Frank watched helplessly as the door closed and his eyes snapped upward to the screen, where Kane appeared in the picture and loomed down at the sleeping form on the bed. He let out a pained growl, like a trapped animal.

 

* * * * * 

 

The soft weightlessness of sleep uncurled its deep hold and began pushing Eric to the surface of consciousness. When the feeling completely released him, Eric was in a room with cream-colored walls and paisley curtains. He let out a long sigh, as if he had been holding his breath for ages, stretching his fingers out along the smooth covers of the bed. His heavy eyelids fluttered open as he squinted to see the world past his thick lashes. 

He lurched forward but found himself unable to sit upright. It was then that his latest his waking memories came flooding back to him. “Huh?!” He glanced frantically around the room, his arms straining for a hold on something, anything. Both hands sailed upwards and chains snapped taught, connected by two loops around either wrist. “The fuck--?” 

Since he could not sit up, he looked downward, taking in the sight of his bared upper half and the towel wrapped around his waist, secured with a robe tie. He could feel the cool press of cotton against his naked thighs and shivered. His legs were not restrained, and he kicked wildly at the air, for something—anything—to free himself. 

“Good morning, angel,” A dark voice cooed. His eyes snapped upward to glare at the white-haired man who loomed above him. 

“Wh—where?” Eric meant for the words to come faster, clearer, and more threatening than they sounded—which was a lot like a scared kid that didn’t know where he was. 

“Shh, shh….lay back down, now.” Kane clamped a hand on the side of Eric’s face. 

Eric wrenched his head away, but immediately regretted the gesture as it sent his brain reeling. His vision blurred and the knot in his stomach began to tighten. He curled his legs inward and winced. 

“You’ll be alright. It’s the tranquilizer. Takes a while to come out of it.” 

“MMmmhh,” Eric groaned, wincing his eyes shut, the sleepy feeling returning, coming back to claim him. 

“Ohh, that’s it, beautiful.” Kane’s hand was pressed to the side of his face, again, his thumb swiping over Eric’s satiny bottom lip. 

“Go to hell,” Eric ground out, gnashing his teeth at the intruding digit. He was rewarded with a firm backhand that cracked his neckbackward. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. 

“That wasn’t nice,” Kane’s voice sounded guttural, haunting. 

Eric blinked until the room came back into focus, the heat and sting from Kane’s wrath still present on his face. He glanced up at the chains that bound his wrists to the bed, wrenching his arms upward and cracking the metal links against the bedposts. Kane’s hand was sweeping lower, now, his wide fingers trailing over his adam’s apple, dipping into his collarbone, splaying over Eric’s firm chest. Kane produced a low chuckle that made Eric shudder. 

“Where’s my Dad?,” Eric ground out, slapping the chains against the metal rungs. 

Kane shrugged. “He is just fine, sweetheart. I had to send him away for a while. You know, so we had a chance to get re-acquainted.” 

“This…” Eric muttered, his throat suddenly going dry. He smacked his lips and surveyed the parts of the room that he could see, which was mostly ceiling. He focused in on a small box that hung in the corner of the room, and the small red light that blinked on and off. “Who’s our audience? Huh, Kane?” 

“Good to know we are finally on a first-name basis,” the agent murmured, his finger flicking harshly over one of Eric’s nipples. Eric bit down on his lip and tried lashing his leg out again at the man, but Kane easily sidled away and dug his nails into the forming bud, twisting. 

“AGGHH—!” Eric let out a pained sob and wrenched away, doubling over on his back and pulling his legs up to his chest. 

“So sensitive,” muttered Kane, releasing Eric with a click of his tongue. “Daddy has done such a good job of sheltering you. You don’t even know what you want, do you?” 

“Where’s my DAD!?,” Eric snapped again. 

Kane payed him no mind, instead turning away from the writhing boy on the bed and loosening his tie. “There are better questions to be asking,” he said, sliding the tie off and neatly folding it and placing it on the dresser. “For instance, ‘how long’?” 

“How long what?”, Eric sputtered, bending his arms inward in an attempt to cover his chest. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Kane’s suit jacket was next, sliding off his broad shoulders, the hilt of his firearm flashing from its place in the shoulder-holster strapped across his back. “How long has your Daddy been a pain in my ass? How long has he been fucking with my every plan to make this city right? How long has he been murdering, torturing, blowing my men’s brains out through the back of their heads? Or my personal favorite…” He turned back to glance at Eric with cold, meticulous calculation as he methodically rolled up his sleeves. “…how long have I known about you?” 

Eric glared. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I don’t like you merely for who you are to him.” The agent’s gloved hand slid easily in between Eric’s thighs, forcibly spreading them apart and keeping them that way with a bent knee. “That’s just a bonus. The real treasure here is that you represent a…challenge for me.” He winked. “I like that.” 

Kane tugged at the tie around Eric’s waist. It loosened easily and the towel fell away, revealing the milky skin of Eric’s naked body. 

Kane slipped two fingers beneath Eric’s manhood, lifting it for inspection. His thumb ran down the head of it and gave it a light tug—Eric immediately sprang to life, going rigid at the intruding touch. “Oh to be twenty and four months again,” he chided. 

“GO TO HELL,” Eric spat out. His knee connected with Kane’s face, at last, with a force that sent the taller man to the ground. Kane clammered up the side of the bed, rending the sheets and snapping his teeth in a wolf-like growl. Immediately, he lunged, peeling Eric’s hair back with an angry fist and devouring his throat, drawing blood. Eric screamed as the wetness coated his neck and spattered against the white sheets. “Stop!” He pleaded, the chains digging into his wrists as he tried frantically to get his assailant off of him. Kane was on top of him, now, keeping his thighs spread wide with his muscular legs, pressing his erection, which felt like a ten-inch-brick in his pants, against Eric’s naked form. 

“Sssshh,” Kane cooed, belying his vicelike grip. He grinned down at Eric, blood smattering one side of his mouth. Even as Eric was pulling against the restraints so hard he shook, Kane ground his cock into the warmth between Eric’s legs and groaned in ecstasy. “Good boy,” he moaned, his eyes rolling back into his head as his scent overpowered all of Eric’s senses. Though Eric was a beta, the smell was so powerful a charge that it settled his nerves and numbed his mind, coaxing him into submission. His struggling lessened, and a whimper escaped as Kane devoured Eric’s gaping mouth. “Yes, there you are,” Kane rewarded, drawing small circles on Eric’s chest with his thumbs. He captured both nipples in his straightened fingers and tugged gently between them, reveling in the gasp that was produced. He rutted between Eric’s legs, gently rocking the bulge in his trousers over Eric’s hard wetness. 

“Uh,” Eric moaned, his eyes fluttering, his head rolling back to the pillow. The muscles of his ass clenched as Kane’s hands went down and he dug fingernails in to the firm mounds of flesh. 

“So beautiful, just like your Daddy,” Kane said. 

Eric snapped upright again at the mention of his father and Kane pushed his head back down. “Shhh…” He captured Eric’s hard length, stroking playfully, feather-light touches igniting his skin and sending a bead of fresh precum rolling down his cock. “When I saw you dancing with that girl, I got awfully jealous, you know.” Kane’s hand went further, deeper, his fingers sliding into Eric’s crack and brushing up against his puckered entrance. 

Eric went rigid. 

“It’s okay,” Kane soothed, his voice velvety-soft as he rested his finger there, working a small circle around Eric’s hole. 

“Fucking…lowlife…bastard!” Eric’s breath hitched as he strained against the chains. 

A fist pounding at the door to the room startled him upright. “Damn it,” Kane grunted. “What IS IT?” 

“We got a problem, sir—“ was all the voice on the other end could get out before a barrage of gun-fire erupted and bullets pattered outside the room. 

“Fuck!” He sprang off the bed, pistol in hand, rolling his back onto the metal door. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you!,” he bellowed. 

When the gunfire subsided, an eerie silence ensued. Eric’s eyes were wide and glistening with fear, as he froze in place on the bed and listened for something, anything. “You never should have done it,” Eric murmured, breaking the quiet. “You’re a dead man.” 

His fathers were Matt Murdock—the Daredevil, and Frank Castle—the notorious Punisher. Eric may not have followed in his vigilante parents’ footsteps, but he had ice and fire running through his veins and had been around long enough to know that nobody messed with Eric and got away with it—not even his best of friends. He couldn’t explain why, but a momentary feeling of pity for the man who had so heinously crossed that line swept over him. Maybe it was his Murdock blood—something telling him there might yet be good in this man, this agent who was so hell-bent on destroying his father. It was fleeting, though, as he glanced up at the bonds that held him and noticed a hairline fracture running along one of the links in the chain that held his right hand. 

“I’ve got your baby boy in here, Castle!,” Kane shouted. He was sounding lot like a man who was cornered. “You wouldn’t want to aim for me and accidently hit your son, would you?” 

“Trust me, he won’t miss!,” Eric shot back. With a grunt, he looped his foot into the space between his arm and the chain (all those stretching warm-ups on the swim team had been good for something after all). He wrapped his leg around and pulled with all his might. There would be no interruption; Kane was pre-occupied trying to threaten his way out of certain death. 

“Let him go!” It was Matt’s voice, groggy but cognitive. “Nobody has to get hurt, Kane.” 

A sudden snap of metal caused Kane to glance back at Eric, who had already wriggled himself free of one restraint and was now standing on the edge of the mattress, furiously yanking at the end still secured to his left wrist. “Don’t,” Kane barked, cocking the hammer back on the pistol. 

It was Eric’s turn to laugh, even as his raw nerves sent shivers through his whole body, and he shook his head deliberately from side to side, his eyes locked on Kane’s. “You shoot me and you’ll have signed your own death warrant, for real.” 

“Eric?” Matt called. 

“I’m okay, Dad!,” he replied. 

“Kane, just open the door. Let Eric go. That’s all I’m asking. We will leave and nobody else gets hurt, okay?”

“BULLSHIT,” Kane roared.

“It’s your best option,” Eric murmured softly, his hands still fidgeting with the iron bracelet.

“You shut up! You know, Eric, I thought maybe you were different. That maybe, somehow, you were not the murdering vigilante sludge that your Daddies were. Turns out, I was wrong. You are cut from that same cloth, aren’t you? You self-righteous little shit?!” 

“And, what? Fucking me is supposed to prove some kind of point? Like you’re some—some kind of hero yourself?!” Eric snorted. “Don’t make me laugh!” 

Matt’s voice came through the wall again, this time trepidatious, cautious. “Eric, don’t…” 

“Any second my Dad is going to come through that door and you are going to be horse meat,” he hissed. “So save your sorry ass and get me out of here!” 

Kane shook his head solemnly. “No, Eric. I’m afraid I can’t do that.” A cold tear slid down the side of his face as he squeezed the trigger.

“Eric, get down!,” Matt screamed, but it was too late. Shrapnel exploded and flew everywhere, blowing the door to bits. Eric hit the floor hard. Drywall and debris shattered against Eric’s shoulders and his face, the hot-coal smell invading his mouth and burning his lungs. He coughed as the dust settled and a body threw itself over his, strong arms wrapping around his naked form and cradling him tightly. 

“I’m okay,” Eric muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He shook and shivered freely, now, the reality of the dire situation and its tragic end sinking fast into his mind. 

Matt stroked his dusty hair back and smoothed a hand down his dirt-singed cheek. “You’re safe. It’s alright now,” he cooed. Matt rent the chain in two with skilled hands, and it clattered to the floor, leaving only the metal bracket around Eric’s wrist. 

For a moment, Eric was that injured three-year-old on his Daddy’s lap, being rocked back and forth and comforted by the sound of his father’s heartbeat. He buried his face in Matt’s chest, stifling his sobs. 

“The cops will be here any minute.” It was Frank’s voice, now, calculative and cool, as he stepped into the room and offered a hand down to Matt. 

“Can you stand?,” Matt asked Eric. 

“I-I think so.” 

“I know a back way out,” Rumlow offered, stepping through the blown doorway to tap Frank on the shoulder. He pointed down a long corridor with the end of his rifle, and Frank nodded to him. 

Eric stiffened a little at the sight of the unfamiliar face, but Matt threw his shirt around Eric’s shoulders and fastened it quickly in the front. It would have to do as a cover-up until they could get to safety. 

Frank said nothing, didn’t glance at Eric or call him by name, but as Matt ushered Eric towards the open door, helping him step over the rumpled-up body underneath the drywall and brick, he clasped a hand on the nape of Eric’s neck and squeezed. Eric smiled softly, for once grateful for his father’s stern protection. 

As they made their way out of the makeshift room and into the concrete warehouse, Eric glanced back but Matt kept him moving, an arm up over the shoulders of his much taller son. Eric jumped a little when a shot rang out and reverberated against the stone walls. 

Moments later, Frank followed behind silently, disposing of weapons one by one along the way. 

* * * * *


	3. Ice and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank and Matt are safe at home with their son, Eric. All is safe. For now.

“Oh my God, where were you guys?” Foggy nearly exploded as the family of three stumbled through the apartment door. “I heard this explosion go off, and it rocked the building, and then the cops showed up and…” 

Matt placed a consoling hand on his best friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “We’re okay, Fog. It’s over now.”

Foggy’s mouth dropped open as Matt shuffled past with his son, covered in filmy white debris. “Oh my god, what happened to you, kid?” 

“Don’t want to talk about it, Uncle Foggy,” Eric mumbled. “Just want to take a shower.” 

Frank had driven them back in a van borrowed from the S.t.r.i.k.e. Team, after shaking hands with Rumlow and exchanging a few words on what happened. It was determined that Kane would not be missed, at S.H.I.E.L.D. or in Hell’s Kitchen. Apparently, the man had been the bane of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s existence for quite some time, Rumlow included. Rumlow had told Frank to keep the van for as long as needed, and promised that nobody would be snooping around asking questions or following them home. Frank didn’t ask how Rumlow planned to accomplish all that—the man had a reputation that wasn’t exactly sparkling clean, and he had a propensity to learn towards solutions that were not exactly “ethical”. The situation being as it was, Frank could respect that. 

“Thanks,” Frank said, tilting his head Foggy’s direction. 

“For what?” Foggy said, blinking. Even after twenty-some years, Frank’s very presence was enough to set Foggy on edge. He instinctively swallowed and took a step backward, just in case Frank was being sarcastic. 

“For taking care of them.” Frank drew an arm around his son’s shoulders as they both headed towards the bathroom.

“Of course.” Foggy nodded, taking Matt’s arm and leading him to the couch. 

In the bathroom, Frank helped Eric strip off the dirty button-up shirt, peeling it off and onto the floor. “Let me check you over,” he murmured, tracing a finger down a lengthy scratch on Eric’s arm. 

“I’m fine, Dad,” Eric grumbled, brushing his hand away. “Really.” 

Frank grunted, displeased, but took a seat on the closed toilet lid as Eric ran the shower water and stepped in. Through the curtain, he stared numbly at Eric’s silhouette—his gangly legs and the wiry muscle of his arms indicative of a swimmer’s physique. Eric had always loved the water. Matt had begged Frank to let Eric join the swim team in high school; Frank was decidedly against any extra-curricular activities. They got in the way of Eric’s studies and narrowed their already limited family-time. But Eric was always as smart as a whip and after more than a few shouting matches, he finally caved with the condition that Frank would be attending each and every meet. 

Eric was tall, too—had sprouted like a weed since birth and surpassed both his five-foot-ten-tall parents by the age of fourteen. Frank was perplexed as to where the height came from, but it seemed in so many ways, Eric had surpassed every expectation ever placed on him by either of his Dads. Frank blinked away the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes and grabbed a towel off the rack, running it across his knuckles, smearing dirt and blood and debris into the cracked, calloused skin rather than off it. “Sorry, kid,” he murmured, “I should have found a way to get rid of that lowlife piece of shit before it ever came to this.” 

“Go check on Daddy, would you?” Eric huffed over the shower bar. “I’m fine.” 

“Yeah,” Frank said, discarding the bloodied towel onto the floor and standing up. He threw one last glance over his shoulder before exiting to join his husband and Foggy in the living room. 

* * * * * 

“And then what happened?,” Rory shouted over the blaring dance music of the night club. 

Eric shrugged. “After we all got cleaned up we sort of chilled on the deck for a while drinking gator-aid and listening to Uncle Foggy bitch my Dad out for leaving him at the party.” 

Rory shook his head in amazement, a wide grin plastered all over his tanned face. “Dude, that’s insane. So your Dad…Frank…for sure killed that agent?” 

Eric nodded. “Oh yeah.” He crinkled his nose as he took another swig of the jagerbomb Rory had ordered for him. 

“You’re putting that fake ID of yours to shame!,” Rory teased. “Just slam it!” He picked up another of the small glasses strewn about the table and knocked it back, letting out a dramatic “aaah!” before the glass clacked back down. “Like that!” Eric followed suit with a sly smile, throwing his head back as he drowned down the fiery liquid. It burned all the way through his throat and made him choke, but he emerged victorious, flashing his pearly white teeth as Rory’s slapped a hand on his back. “That’s my boy!” 

Across the table, their mutual friend Mike shook his head slowly as he leisurely drank his coke-a-cola. As the designated driver for the evening, he would be facing the party sober that night. 

“Uh-oh,” Eric grumbled. Rory and Mike followed his gaze across the crowded room to the dance floor, where Rory’s boyfriend Nickel was swaying his hips to the beat. He had long, dark brown hair that ran past his shoulders and down his back and flashed with light purple accents that were visible even in the neon lighting of the room. Eric’s trained eye caught the trail of a towering, muscle-bound stranger that was making his way towards Rory’s oblivious boyfriend. Rory’s eyes flashed black and he rose from his seat, but Mike clamped a hand down on his shoulder. 

“No, you guys hang here. I’ll take care of this.” 

Mike was a lanky, dark-skinned guy with legs like tree trunks and a presence that overpowered pretty much every other alpha in the room. Nonetheless, his features were soft and relaxed as the two friends watched him intercede. Just as the hulking stranger closed in, Mike swept a lanky hand down the small of Nickel’s back and Nickel turned his head, smiling. Eric watched as Rory’s hackles bristled a little—the thought of anybody else touching Nickel was almost too much to bear—but Rory gritted his teeth as the two danced and the hovering alpha finally caught the drift and wandered off in visible disappointment. 

“You should be more careful,” Eric muttered down into his empty glass. He didn’t care much for Nickel—especially considering he was Rory’s greatest distraction and the reason he and Eric didn’t get to hang out nearly as often as he’d like—but he was a part of the group and someone they all had to watch out for. Eric was grateful he had not been born an omega—that at least was clear to him, now. Any omega blood running through his veins would have been awakened by the proximity and intensity of Kane’s presence. Maybe he wasn’t an alpha, either. He didn’t get stupid around omegas, drooling over them like a cave-bear or showing off in front of bigger alphas like an idiot with a death-wish. And Nickel sure as hell didn’t do anything for him—Nickel was lithe and pretty, like one of those omegas on the cover of Cosmopolitan—an omega’s omega. He may as well have been a girl, as far as Eric was concerned. With his long legs and smaller structure, and a cute little round ass…

“I know…” Rory said with a shrug. “But I want him out there, having fun. I don’t want him to feel…” 

“Trapped,” Eric finished, rubbing the red marks on his wrists. He shuddered as the feeling of Kane’s hands on him returned, the fingers sliding sickeningly familiarly down his body, wrapping around his flaccid cock. Eric shuddered. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Rory squeezed his shoulder, glancing down at him reassuringly. “He can’t ever hurt you again.” Rory glanced back up to see his boyfriend dancing happily with the lanky, clumsy Mike. “Your Dad made sure of that.” 

* * * * * 

Matt hadn’t recalled exactly what he had said before being shoved back to the shower wall, feeling Frank’s rough hands grabbing frantically at the scraps of clothing still clinging to him, his mouth being devoured in a desperate kiss. Must have been something to do with how he had missed him so much it hurt. Or how he feared they would never be here together again, back in their apartment, doing whatever it was they had been doing for the past twenty one years. 

“Red,” Frank groaned, flattening his bare chest to Matt’s. Supposedly, they had come in here to take the shower they both so desperately needed. The tap was on the opposite end—Frank must have planned it that way when he pushed him in, so the on/off handle wouldn’t be digging uncomfortably into Matt’s back. A puff of air escaped his lips before diving in for another long, rough kiss, one that stole Matt’s breath and made his knees buckle.

“Give it to me,” Matt sighed against Frank’s open mouth, dragging his nails down the ridges of Frank’s knotted back muscles. “God, Frank.” He bit down on his husband’s neck, sucking in the flesh around it, tasting the dirt and the blood and the unfamiliar scents of the S.t.r.i.k.e. barracks (rubber, leather, sanitized steel, gun-grease). He spread his legs willingly as Frank clammered for the conditioner bottle, the best lube under the circumstances. 

Frank returned to kissing him as he tugged Matt’s leg up onto his arm and and slid his fingers along his crack, relishing the shudder Matt produced. Matt’s scent was practically spilling out of him—that sweet omega musk—and Frank’s fingers stopped as he found the slick, clear fluid of Matt’s self-lubricant. He froze, dragging out a long swallow, forcing himself to back off, to behave, to make it good for Matt, even as his perfectly black irises bore a hole into Matt’s normally angelic face, which was twisted with need. 

Matt brought himself down on the fingers with a frustrated grunt, his hole tight, the muscles around it warm and shuddering. 

“Wait,” Frank hushed against his lips, his fingers curling in reluctance. 

“Goddamn it Castle, if you don’t fuck me now—“ Matt rasped, giving Frank’s throbbing erection a harsh tug for affect. 

Frank jumped, his grip on Matt’s thighs tightening, a growl rumbling in the back of his throat. “Don’t do that, Red.” Frank’s voice came out a velvety whimper. “God, please, I won’t last if you do that.” 

“Inside me,” Matt whined, his head rolling back and bumping against the shower with a ‘thud’. 

“Okay,” Frank breathed, every muscle in his body shuddering as he wrapped his arms under Matt’s and hoisted him up against the wall. “Okay, baby, here I come.” He lined the head of his aching dick up to Matt’s tight entrance, jutting against the warm, slick muscle, rubbing into the wetness. 

“Mmh…” Matt’s eyelashes fluttered as he set himself down on Frank’s rigid shaft. The tight opening barely gave, pulling at Frank’s slit and pouring more slick out on top of it. Frank cried against Matt’s neck, covering him with desperate kisses and rutting up into the overwhelming sensation. Matt grunted and pushed downward, a sharp stabbing sensation rocking his whole body. Frank cried out—it must have hurt him, too—as Matt forced the head of Frank’s cock inside his painfully unwilling orifice. 

“Stop,” Frank choked out, splaying a hand out against the wall. 

“Shh,” Matt cooed, giving his quivering lips a kiss and beginning a slow rhythm. It opened him up, the muscles of his opening fluttering to giving way and pulling Frank inside. Frank rocked forward, his hips matching Matt’s, working himself inside his white-hot embrace. 

Soon, Frank was gaining ground, pounding Matt back into the wall and letting out a guttural groan as he felt himself starting to spill out. He backed off again, but Matt’s muscles clamped down around his twitching cock. “Don’t you dare,” Matt growled, speeding up the pace, working Frank in and out of his ass as Frank choked down a sob and fired into him. Matt threw his head back, his hole devouring every drop, relishing the feel of Frank’s pulsating cock as his seed continued to thread out of him. He came by just the intrusion of Frank being buried deep inside of him, rutting his prostate clean until Matt was sputtering against Frank’s stomach, come flying out of the end of his dick and coating them both in the slick wetness. 

Frank gave a few last shoves with a groan, then collapsed with Matt against the shower wall, panting. “God,” he breathed.

“Mmmh,” Matt moaned, wiping the sweat out of his eyes and kissing the top of Frank’s head. As his breath settled and Frank gently pulled out, Matt swept his open palm over the stubble of Frank’s face, brushing his thumb over his wide lips. “Never leave me again, you got that?” 

“Yeah I got it,” Frank agreed, sealing the deal with a shaky, satiated kiss.


	4. Frank Castle, of S.H.I.E.L.D. (artwork)

[](http://s611.photobucket.com/user/Jamie_Lyn_Gaskin/media/20160731_155710_zpstvahyaej.jpg.html)


End file.
